All Is Spoken
by AViewerLikeMe
Summary: "It should be you coming with me." A drabble based on the end of TFA. Extended into a four-part story. Finn/Rey. WARNING: SPOILERS.
1. In Silence

_Disclaimer: nothing is mine._

 **In Silence, All Is Spoken**

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She's never been so unsettled by a closed mouth before.

Since the moment they met, he has talked nonstop; with humor, with anger, with excitement, or with fear, rambling on like a broken record. At first it was immensely annoying, what with the sudden war and destruction going on. And then, one day she turned around and found it comforting. She began encouraging him to talk more, to her. And he would always oblige. When all seemed lost, he would talk. When danger loomed near, he would talk. When everyone reached a dead end, he would talk, until he learned or realized something that could change their fate. Even in his most anguished, he would keep talking, if perhaps less. His voice has been a lifeline for her, in the midst of the galaxy crumbling around them, and now-

Now the silence is all she is greeted with, as she sits and watches him sleep.

She calls it sleep, because "passed out" and "coma" is too hopeless. She's had enough loss to think about; drawing attention to the possible death of the first friend she's ever had will leave her unfit to embark on her journey.

The journey that she'll be leaving for in a few minutes. The journey to Luke Skywalker.

"It should be you coming with me," she blurts out, her fingers digging into her thighs. "You should be giving him his lightsaber back. You deserve it more than I do."

She wants him to laugh and tell her she's being too dramatic.

"You saved my life. You risked everything to find me. You fought _him_ for me. . ."

His beautiful face is still as stone. She can feel her own face contorting with grief.

"How can I ever repay you?"

The cold quiet is a heart-wrenching answer. One she will not accept.

"You can't die," she whispers roughly, leaning in, "because I will come back for you. Once I find Luke Skywalker, I will come back for you. I promise. We will see the end of this war _together."_

A solitary tear drops from her eye to the brown canvas of his cheek. She hurriedly wipes it away, ashamed of marring his face with her emotions. His skin is soft and warm against her fingers, so they linger there, with a sense of longing she isn't used to.

"Thank you, Finn," she whimpers, watching his closed eyes. "For everything."

His lips, closed as they shouldn't be, twitch slightly. She jumps and stares, willing them to part, to reveal his straight white teeth and smile. But the moment was a fluke, a tease, and nothing changes.

Pressing her own lips together to keep from screaming, she rakes her eyes over every inch of his face, memorizing the features. She is struck so suddenly by how beautiful he is. How unfair is this world that a face so handsome, with a heart so good, is left to an uncertain future?

Seized by a foreign boldness, she stands up, bends over and presses her trembling lips to the corner of his mouth. The contact sends a thrill through her bones, spreading warmth to the pit of her stomach, and she forgets where she's been and where she's going. She is right here, with him, pleading herself to another in a way she didn't think possible for herself.

All too soon, the moment is past. Ever so slowly, she straightens up, gazing tenderly at the boy who she has vowed to return to. It could be a trick of the light or her blurry vision, but she could swear the tiniest of smiles is curving his lips upward, like his body understands what has happened and embraces it.

For the last time, she humors her wishful imagination: if he _were_ awake, he'd wipe her tears and tell her everything will be alright. And then he'd turn her around and guide her out the door. So she follows his unspoken advice, wiping her tears and walking out to her ship, telling herself in no uncertain terms that everything _will_ be alright.

Her new destiny remains silent in her wake.

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 _A/N: Thoughts? Reviews? Yes? No? Maybe so? I can't help but feel like something could happen there. . .yes, I am now a Finn/Rey shipper. And I loved the movie. There was enough of the old story that supported the new story. Everything made sense to me, the acting was superb, the dialogue was great, and the effects were outstanding: i couldn't quite tell the CGI from the real. Props to JJ Abrams for a job well done! Thanks for reading!_


	2. Through Force

_Disclaimer: nothing belongs to me._

 **Through Force, All Is Spoken**

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He doesn't know how the Force works.

The phrase, in Han's exasperated voice, still rings in his ears, as clear as it was on Starkiller Base with frozen toes and no plan. As FN-2187, he was always scolded for any and every reason; if he ate too much, if he didn't eat enough, if he answered questions wrong, if he spoke without being addressed, if he shot and missed, if he lost a training match-there was always something to be punished for. His last straw had been Captain Phasma reminding him to keep his helmet on. Even as he obeyed, he had promised himself he'd never be scolded or punished again.

But Han's scolding was different. Despite his bugged eyes and incredulous grimace, Han's scolding wasn't _scolding._ Not like the First Order. It was more like the people Finn comes across while exploring D Q'ar. Groups of people conversing loudly over trivial issues; an adult or two arguing over politics, a child trying to get her dog to fetch, a father chastising his son for some unknown offense. A little miffed, a lot dramatic, but always knowing, and always with love.

Only through Han can Finn remember such a chastisement, "That's not how the Force works!" because Han so clearly wanted him to know how the Force works. Finn wishes the man were here now; he could have helped him with this. . .nagging desire in him to use the Force. . .to call to Rey.

The medical droids told him he'd been out for two weeks after the events on Starkiller Base. He'd woken up shaking and screaming for Rey and Han, and had broken down in tears (for the first time in his life) when he realized that neither were there. It had taken hours and the combined efforts of Poe, BB-8 and General Leia to calm him down. "It's alright," they said, "We found the map to Skywalker, Rey went with Chewie and Artoo to find him, and they'll be back soon."

At first, it only served to make him wail louder. _She's gone,_ he had thought to himself, _and it's all my fault._ Soon after, though, the irrational self-blame and panic had dissipated in favor of something else: a determination. Rey had gone out of her comfort zone to better herself. If she could do that, he could do the same.

If the past 24 years belonged to the life of FN-2187, then the past few months have been the birth and growth of Finn. He can feel himself expanding and growing into this new body, this new _life._ In battle, his head and heart are not battling for dominance. He can fire the right shots _and_ go back to rescue a fellow soldier. He trains with weights and long runs for himself, not Kylo Ren or Hux. He converses with the other members of the Resistance, smiling and laughing without fear of being told off. He eats with gusto, drinks in moderation (some drinks are too strong for refills), and makes friends.

And sometimes, like tonight, he finds a flat surface, like a hilltop or a roof, and lies back watching the distant planets glow with the stars.

The others don't quite understand why; they ask him how he isn't bored to death of the sky after five minutes, why he doesn't want to shoot plates and engage in drinking contests with the rest of them. They don't see the luxury in lying down. They've never been deprived of it.

It's such interactions that remind Finn that he can't run away from FN-2187, that it'll always be a part of his DNA, setting him apart from normal people with families and childhoods and lifelong freedoms. His life is eternally a tribute to the prisoner in white armor he used to be. All he can do is fight that much harder for Finn, so Finn can have everything FN-2187 was denied.

But, despite all his efforts, Finn is still being denied of the one thing he wants most: Rey.

She is in every curve of his mind, smiling with a new idea. She is in his dreams, scowling as she points to the one tool he won't pick up. She is in his ears, begging him not to leave. Some days, if he hugs himself hard enough, he can feel the weight of her limp body in his arms, dusted with snow. He lifts heavier weights so he'll never have to hold her that way again. The thought of her in danger evokes a crippling wave of fear and. . .

He supposes that's what love is: moving mountains to protect a girl who can take care of herself. And waking up with "Rey" on your lips. And wishing you had a last name to give her.

He doesn't know how the Force works. But he knows that the girl of his dreams is somewhere in the Galaxy fulfilling her destiny with the Force. And maybe, just maybe, the Force is in his favor. And if the Force is in his favor, then maybe she can hear him from here. That's another thing Finn can have that FN-2187 couldn't: someone to hear him.

With a deep breath, he looks to the starry sky and speaks his heart into the night.

"Rey. . .come home. I'll be waiting."

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A/N: Came to me in the middle of the night. I had to add something else to this story, and with a little bit of work, I might have a four-shot thing going on. Your feedback is greatly appreciated, and I hope you enjoy this and the future chapters! Happy Holidays!


	3. Over Noise

_Disclaimer: nothing belongs to me. Not a thing._

 _A/N: oh my gosh, the love I've received so far is overwhelming! Thank to you all the reviewers and favoriters(I know that's not a word) and followers for your support! I couldn't wait to update the next chapter. Without further ado, here is part three!_

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 **Over Noise, All Is Spoken**

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In the years to come she'll never know why she says it.

It could have been the fatigue from the sleepless nights she spent repairing the Falcon until it was functional enough to fly. It could have been the dizziness from jolting out of her meditation when Master Skywalker informed her that they had reached their destination. It could have been the anticipation, built up from months of seeing one face in her dreams, the one attachment she had left to hold on to. It could have been the shock of seeing that face again, leaving her dumbstruck and without a coherent thought.

All she knows is that it's been countless months in exile with a droid, a Wookie and a Jedi hermit, and she's finally coming home, not to Jakku, but to the first planet with more green than her eyes can take in, and the ship is landing, and she sees droves of people cheering, and none of their faces matter save for one.

Luke grips her hand; it's slightly clammy. She squeezes it reassuringly.

"They're just happy you're back," she tells him as the the landing ramp lowers down.

"It's not them I'm concerned with," he responds, not looking at her.

She stifles her knowing giggle and rephrases: " _She's_ just happy you're back."

The Jedi Master sighs heavily, but she can sense his confidence rising. Artoo titters behind them. Chewie roars in approval as they walk down the ramp. Rey's senses come alive.

 _He's_ here.

She searches his spirit before she even sees him. When they had first met, he had conflict; that you could tell without the Force. He was frightened and defeated and desperate to escape, to forget the mess of a life he'd endured. Today, all the conflict is gone. He feels grounded somehow, like he's settled into the destiny life had laid out for him, and he's not going anywhere ever again. _Neither am I, Finn. Neither am I._

The crowd surges forward around Luke, who lets go of her hand, and she can slip backwards, away from the hubbub. Artoo and Chewie join the fun as everyone clamors to get a view of the mystery Jedi. General Leia pushes through to grab her brother's face, and the reunion is heart-wrenching, but the least of Rey's concerns, because she's stepped far away from the group as possible as there is one other who has done the same.

Their eyes connect, and his instantly fill with tears. As her own eyes sting, she remembers that the last time he'd seen her was lying out cold in the snow. And the last time she'd seen him was on a hospital bed. They'd both been convincing themselves the other was alright all this time, but seeing each other now makes all the difference.

He seems. . .fuller somehow. The round of his cheeks haven't changed, but his physique has broadened with muscle mass, and he's cut his hair even shorter. His shirt is white and untucked over stiff denim jeans, both of which are new to her-she has only imagined him in a leather jacket and dusty black pants-but beautiful all the same, enhancements to perfection.

Somewhere far away, someone is setting off fireworks to celebrate the return of Luke Skywalker, and the people are laughing in delight.

Rey is delighted, but for a different reason. She remembers the presence he had when they first met-jittery but warm and protective. She remembers throwing her arms around him when he'd come to save her at his own risk, marveling at how no one had ever hugged her so tightly, like she mattered. She remembers his voice, pleading, "Come with me," watching him walk away and realizing he'd taken piece of her with him.

And now he's here.

Still warm, still protective, with a piece of her intact in his hand.

Her feet are rooted to the ground, so he slowly walks forward until they are a foot apart. She hungrily takes in his face, the smooth brown skin, the pink inviting mouth, the warm black eyes brighter than any sun, the thin wisps of hair on his chin. Her chest thumps painfully at the scar on his neck, still fresh from some unspeakable horror, but she cannot sense any ghosts of war within. Somehow he remains the pure heart that he'd been months before. Time has only made him more beautiful. It almost hurts to stare, even though staring is all she can think of doing.

The cheering of the crowd melts away in her ears. There is only their breathing. Frozen like statues, they face each other in silence. She can sense his emotions now-joy, shock, relief, hope-and feels the force of her own feelings sing beneath her skin. She is almost loathe to speak, afraid to end the eternity of this moment-but when she sees his lips split apart, smiling the way he did when they had escaped from the First Order on Jakku so long ago, the words bubble up from within as if they were waiting for the right time to spill.

They make no sense, they have no connection to any of her memories with him, and yet nothing else feels right to say.

Shakily, joyfully. . .

"Are you an angel?"

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 _A/N: Up to your interpretation. . .(sly smile). Hope you enjoyed! All your feedback keeps me warm for the winter!_


	4. With Hands

_Disclaimer: This is George Lucas's. And Disney's._

 **With Hands, All Is Spoken**

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There is no better sensation than that of her hair between his fingers.

This is not something he expected to experience. She's never taken her hair out or change the setup even once. Her three buns in a perfect line is the only style she's worn all her life. He'd asked her a few weeks ago how she learned to do it. "Practice," she'd told him, readjusting the bottom bun in the mirror. "Years and years of practice."

The answer swirled in his head, taunting him with the ugly truth: that she'd learned it from the family that had left her on Jakku.

He can't afford to follow that line of thinking too long. It always leads him to such strong feelings of rage on her behalf that she has to grip his shoulder and shake him back into balance. "You're broadcasting, Finn," she tells him, for the umpteenth time. "Come back to me."

It never fails to calm him down; the look on her face suggest fear _for_ him, which in turn makes him wonder what she'd look like if she feared _him_. And every time he thinks like that, she senses it and grabs his face, pressing their foreheads together, sending him waves of compassion and trust until his insecurities are banished to the depths of his soul once more. And then she smiles bashfully and bites her lip, and he has to kiss her, every time, until the emotionally charged moment is forgotten. But the urge remains to see her without the rigid utilitarian style. To see her free from ponytail holders, buns, and ghosts of abandonment.

It's not like you can tell she struggles. She has come into her own as a Jedi, he muses. The past two months of witnessing that have been nothing short of fascinating. Her ability to sense danger from a mile away and move objects with her mind is a useful tool. She and Luke spar every morning after meditation, and once he is permitted to watch, he sends a grateful prayer to the heavens that he is not Kylo Ren, who Rey has vowed darkly to repay for Han's death. She makes sure not to say so around her Master; he stiffens and frowns in the way a Father frowns at his reckless child. "Don't go the same route Ben did," he reminds her. She grudgingly nods in his presence, but winks at Finn behind his back. Despite that worrisome snag, Finn is impressed by her. In fact, he's insanely proud of her. He just wishes he could unshackle her from the self-imposed structure she's clung to all her life, that need to hold her pain inside while holding herself upright to the world. Somehow, he has equated this trait to her hairstyle, and as silly as it seems, it makes all the sense in space.

One evening they are sitting side by side on his favorite rooftop after a long day. Just as the sun dips below the horizon, he turns to look at his own ray of light, gazing at the skies. She is radiant in her pensiveness, her skin aglow in the fading light, almost regal in her posture, and not a hair out of place.

Something within, a force greater than himself, pushes him to speak now before he loses his nerve.

"Rey," he whispers hoarsely, "let your hair down. That can't be comfortable all the time."

She smirks at the trees. "Too lazy. I'd rather just sit here."

". . .Let me." It's a question phrased as a statement, and she has to stare at him curiously for a long while, searching his eyes for the reason, before she shrugs and turns back to the horizon.

Slowly and awkwardly, he repositions himself so he's sitting behind her, elevated with his legs bent on either side of her and her back a few inches from his chest. (How intimate this all feels.) Carefully, he takes the bottom bun apart and pulls the ponytail holder out, putting in on his wrist for safekeeping. He does the same with the next two buns, wincing when she whimpers, "Ow!' as a couple of brown hairs separate from their follicles. The top section is the easiest to take out, and after a quick tug, he is left with a mess of tangles and deep indentations from the ponytail holders.

"I must look like a Wookie from the back," she grumbles, the uncertainty clear in her voice.

The greatest lesson he's learned as Finn is that love is a verb with no goal reward. The journey is endless, for the destination is _in_ the act.

He leans forward and firmly kisses her temple, lingering to relish in the pulse against his lips. He can almost hear her heart skip a beat, and a part of him pumps his fist in the air triumphantly. Leaning back, he gets to work, starting from the top with soft strokes to her scalp and working his way down to the ends. When he encounters a knot, he is patient, unraveling it as best he can until he can rake through the section with ease.

By the fourth knot, she lets out a long and heavy sigh, resting her elbows on his thighs, head lolling slightly to the side, muscles slowly losing their tension. She is finally relaxed, as he always imagined her. The knowledge leaves his throat tight.

Star emerge from the darkening sky, complimenting the brightness of the planets that still survive against the war. Breezes come and go, a welcome respite against the summer heat. His fingers never cease their gentle caresses, raking and massaging from the roots down, until every tangle is vanquished and the dents are smoothed out. The resulting sight takes his breath away: brown and shiny tresses, their owner lounging contentedly against him as if she knows he will support her like this until the sun rises again. She wouldn't be wrong.

"Admiring your handiwork?" she mumbles amusingly. The blush that burns his cheeks goes unnoticed, thank the Force, and he can pretend he isn't remotely affected by her teasing.

"No," he replies audaciously pulling a stray strand back from her face, "Admiring the Force's greatest masterpiece."

It's cheesy and laughable, and anyone else would guffaw in his face, but she doesn't care. She has heard his heart in every syllable. He is rewarded for it with dreamy smile when she tilts her head back to look up at him. He can't help but smile back, pulling her closer against him as she wraps his arms around her.

The hours turn to eons that night as they remain seated on the rooftop, surveying lush green plains bathed in starlight. He wants to take this moment and bottle it for later. Finally, she is free from her ghosts, if only for now.

So now is enough.

 _For now,_ he thinks fiercely.

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 _A/N: Aaaand it's one day from 2016. Hope this is a sufficient early New Year's Treat! All your feedback is appreciated. And SURPRISE: I have one more chapter for you. An epilogue of sorts. Stay tuned!_


	5. Urgent Message From The Author

**Attention Readers!**

I'm rather averse to doing things like this, but it seems necessary for now.

The stats show that I've gotten 8 more reviews on this story and none of them have shown up when I try to click on them. I only see them when my email sends me notification, but when I try to reply, I am redirected to a page that says, "Invalid message-can't find the one you're looking for." I noticed maybe other stories, particularly in the SW fandom, are having this problem. I myself have reviewed other stories, and you can see that SOMEONE has reviewed, but when you lick on the review page, it doesn't show up. I don't know why it's happening, but until it's fixed I wanted to let you know why I can't respond to your reviews. I've read them through my personal email and they are lovely and kind, and I appreciate them all.

The next chapter will be up in the New Year. Thanks for the support and so sorry for the inconvenience!

AViewerLikeMe


	6. In Love

_Disclaimer: nothing at all is mine. I'd be rich otherwise._

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 **In Love, All Is Spoken**

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The only time General Leia allows herself to think about Han is when she looks at Finn and Rey.

Somehow, with his death, the pieces of her soul she'd kept hidden all these years have been exposed to the light: the shame of failing as a mother, the knowledge that she'd never _needed_ to be a mother, or a wife, the eagerness with which she'd pushed her son into Luke's arms, the lonely hours lamenting over her lost family, the tiny piece of relief at finally being on her own again, missing Han, not missing Han, loving him all the while, and slowly hating herself. Where she has always shined is at the forefront of the revolution. Fighting for the common man, the underdog, is what's kept her heart beating. But family had soothed the aches in her muscles, coated the throat sore from screaming, and gave her sweet dreams to sleep to. And even then, it wasn't enough; she still shoved it away like a classified document so she could march forward with her fist in the air, wailing a great battle cry. The woman in her was supposed to be fulfilled by family-everyone around her had always said so-but family didn't set fire to her blood. It didn't give her purpose, determination, a set goal to reach. Mother Leia always came in second to General. And the worst part is, she had never minded.

What she _did_ mind was never having made peace with her father, like Luke had. Never having seen his last moments, like Luke did. Never having talked to his Force ghost-like Luke did. It never stopped hurting her heart: the fact that Vader could torture her and destroy her world without ever noticing the Fore within her, but when Luke Skywalker came around, suddenly Vader's sense were tingling. It took Luke and his lightsaber to bring out the truth. Leia only had her years of rebellion. She had a blaster, not a lightsaber. She had wit, not the Force. Despite feeling every loss and connection with her family members, she never could meditate in a tunic and reach out to her father during a healing trance. Only Luke. Always Luke. General Leia knows now that it's an unfair jealousy; Luke hadn't asked for the burden of changing the world's destiny anymore than she had asked to be thrown into war. But years later, it still stings.

And then she loses her son to darkness. And then she loses her brother to guilt. And then she loses her once-lover to her son. It hard enough being her before nursing the wounds the men in her life had left behind. Only one wound has started to heal; with Luke's return after so long, there is no time for a cold shoulder or a personal vendetta. Now, he is all she has left. She clings to him like the young girl she once was, and he apologizes over and over until she shakes him lightly. "Damn it, Luke! I know! I _feel_ it, remember?"

It's only with Luke that she lets her guard down. The rest of time, she blocks out emotions and throws herself into her work with gusto, occasionally grumbling that she's too old for this shit, and wouldn't it be nice if the Dark Side could just shove it up their ass forever?

And then, every once in a while, she looks at Finn and Rey.

They've attended every meeting together and sat barely an inch apart. They've shared side glances from across the room like the secretive lovestruck teens they are. They've engaged in arguments in low hisses with their heads bent together in the corner. They've even had the audacity to grasp hands _during_ missions, right before they raise their blaster and lightsaber and deflect stormtrooper shots. She had sensed their bond when Rey returned from training-who _didn't_?-and she had kept her mouth shut and her nose out their business. But the intensity of their connection is calling to her today, on the day Finn comes back from a horrific battle, as the only survivor. Rey had been pacing the grounds outside with BB-8, who is trying to keep her calm.

By the time Finn's Starfighter lands, she's been sitting on the cargo frantically biting her nails for the better part on an hour.

General Leia observes the former stormtrooper hop out of the fighter with haunted eyes and a clenched jaw, bend over and dry heave. The stubble on his jaw is the only indicator of his manhood-he is _still_ too young to be here., General Leia laments. And Rey, who stands up and drops her staff, looks so much like Luke when he was a boy-fearful and unprepared, with the burden of the galaxy on his shoulders. The only difference between the two Jedi is that Rey's scars are all internal; there is no mechanical hand to tell a story of her hardships, just the naked fear on her face as she waits for Finn to calm his breathing, look up and see her.

When he does, he drops his helmet with a shuddering breath and takes two steps in her direction. She takes off running faster than the speed of light and embraces him so fiercely she could knock him over, but Finn doesn't even stumble; he grabs her just as tightly, burying his face in her hair as she cries into his neck.

General Leia knows it is unbecoming of her to eavesdrop. But the temptation is overwhelming, and she needs to be reminded of the good in humanity, so with the Force, she opens her ears and peeks in. Luckily, Rey has not fully mastered the art of shutting out probes, and if she has, she's too hysterical to care.

"I couldn't feel you," Rey is whimpering. "I tried to find you, I couldn't feel you at all-"

"I know, I know," he murmurs back, "It was touch and go, that's all-"

"I should have gone with you, I knew I should have-"

"No, Rey, _no-"_

"You almost _died,_ Finn-"

"I'm here now, I'm not going anywhere-"

"I almost lost you-"

"I'm right here, Rey, I'm right here-"

"You can't leave me," Rey is sobbing openly, "You can't, you have to come back to me-"

"I came back for you," he says gruffly, taking Rey's face in his hands and forcing her to meet his gaze. "I will always come back for you."

The fierceness of their kiss, in the middle of the Rebel Base in broad daylight, pays homage to another fierce kiss, given decades ago in a carbon-freeze chamber on Cloud City. That kiss was broken early by circumstance, but _this_ kiss last as long as needed. _That_ kiss was affirmed with, "I love you," and, "I know." _This_ kiss needs neither. Their arms are locked tightly around each others bodies, Finn's hand still cupping her face, Rey's tears staining his cheeks. It is not an affirmation, but a confirmation, and General Leia can't help but wonder: is it a crime to feel jealous of two lovers with a brighter future than she and Han?

Because even from here, she can see that Finn and Rey are more in sync than they even realize. Both left alone, both deprived of affection and human contact, both forced into roles unsuited for them. . .and by some miracle, they found each other. No, she admonishes herself. Not a miracle. She knows better-it is the will of the Force. The same Force that has either blessed or doomed her to a life of rebellion. The same Force that took away Han and brought back Luke. Sometimes the Force is an emotional roller coaster. And it has taken hold of Rey, who in turn has latched onto Finn, who defied every bit of his destiny and made a new one for himself. . .unless that too was the will of the Force. But then, what will the boy's true destiny be?

When Finn and Rey finally break apart, they take each other's hand and shakily walk away, off the cement and onto the untouched hills, where a cluster of trees and lakes are hiding. General Leia lets out breath she didn't know she was holding in, gazing tenderly at their retreating backs.

The world of Force and Fate has always ruled her life with an iron grip, and she knows it always will, as surely as she knows it will rule theirs. But if the Force creates challenges without Fate to guide them, perhaps they will guide each other, in their own peculiar way. They are a balance of fire and water, calming the storm and fueling the flames all at once. It reminds her of a rogue pirate with a crooked grin and no Force or Fate, but who always _knew._

 _Look at them,_ she thinks to herself. _They're not like us. . .and yet, they're_ just _like us. They'll be fine._

General Leia turns away abruptly to get back to work. There's no time for dwelling over young love. She has her own fate to worry about.

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 _A/N: So it's a little different than expected, but I thought it'd be cool to write from an outsider point of view. I recently posted a story called "Carry Your World," and the subject was about the Force abandoning a character to figure out their destiny alone. That concept inspired the idea of Leia, always with the Force, analyzing her life and Finnrey's through those lenses. And I had to pay homage to Han Solo. (Still can't believe he's gone. It was very well done, but heartbreaking all the same.)_

 _And that's it for this five part story! I think I could write a sequel of sweet Finnrey moments if I come up with enough. I am so touched and honored by all the feedback you've given me, be it through a review, a follow or a favorite. The issue with reviews is still happening but I'm trying to respond by directly PMing. Let's hope the problem gets resolved._

 _Thank you all so much and Happy 2016!_


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